


so here we are

by retts



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: (or the end of one), First Kiss, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Love Confessions, M/M, Road Trips, they get the hell out of Hawkins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 20:23:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14722988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/retts/pseuds/retts
Summary: Billy’s grin will be the cocky one, the exact same one that makes Steve want to wipe it off with his fist. ‘Fuck off and worry about yourself, Harrington.’Then, Billy will drive off with a squeal of tires because he’s obnoxious like that, and Steve will stare as the Camaro disappears down the road, and he will be relieved.Finally, Billy Hargrove is out of his life for good.No.





	so here we are

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Это мы](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17562872) by [maricon_lanero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maricon_lanero/pseuds/maricon_lanero)



> wtf am i doing in a fandom i don’t belong to??? but fucking hell, this trash ship has dumped me into the biggest dumpster and i can’t get out! send help! 
> 
> also, longest thing i’ve written in months and it makes me feel mehhhhh
> 
> sorry for any mistakes, will clean it up later

 

Steve wakes up to the sound of waves. He rubs at his eyes with the heels of his palms and listens to the surf breaking on the shore. The stereo is switched off, the windows rolled down to let the breeze in; the air is cold and salty when Steve sticks his tongue out. It’s been nothing but rock music and hot air for miles and miles and miles. Even after crossing into California, it was dry land and endless asphalt. Here, parked in front of the ocean, Steve is starting to believe they’ve really made it.

He opens the door and slips out, grabbing the denim jacket pooled on his lap. The sun is just starting to rise, sky brightening in slow ticks of the minute hand, all pinks and purples and faded blues. Steve rolls his shoulders and reaches up for a slow, luxurious stretch, spine popping after too long in the Camaro. He keeps his eyes on the water, the beauty of the waves rolling towards the shore, the rhythm of the surf breaking and reforming and breaking and reforming. Steve’s been to beaches before on holiday. Pristine white sand and crystal clear water, palm trees swaying, white loungers stuck under the fronds. There’s something better about this craggy coastline, though. It seems realer, freer. The wind feels better. The ocean seems to stretch forever with that same sense of freedom.

Steve soaks in the feeling of being in a vast, open space, away from the darkness of the Indiana forest. This is the opposite of Hawkins and its silent trees: alive, noisy, dynamic. The tight, anxious knot he’s been carrying for months unravels even more. He takes a deep breath, holds it in for three counts, and then releases it with a smile.

Feeling serene in a way he rarely does, Steve lets his focus snag on the figure slouched on top of a sand dune a few feet away. Billy is wearing jeans and a thin band shirt, Metallica written on the back. Steve’s never seen Billy so still, all the restlessness gone for the moment as if the ocean has taken it away. From back here, Steve can’t read Billy’s mood, still has difficulty even when Steve’s up close and sees the tell-tale signs of a rage or something much colder, harder. He’s learning a whole new language he never intended to pick up in the first place but is now stuck in his brain.

The wind tumbles Steve’s hair into his face, and he runs a rueful hand through it, catching on the tangled ends. Steve peers at his reflection on the Camaro’s window and makes a face at what he sees, hair flat at the back from sleeping on it and the sides fluffed up like the feathers of an angry chicken. He tugs on a few wayward strands, teases them down, and ultimately gives up with a sigh. He looks back at Billy and bites his lower lip. He knows he should give Billy some space. They’ve been around each other for two days straight. Billy needs a break from him. _He_ needs a break from Billy.

Except he doesn’t, not really.

Steve takes a step forward, glances back at the car, the empty lot they’re in, the long ribbon of road further beyond. He wonders how long they’ve been here. Billy must be freezing, just like back in Indiana during the winter even though he never showed it.

He approaches carefully, knowing better than to startle Billy, but the crashing waves mask his footsteps. Billy’s on top of a low slope of sand, sat on a towel that Steve thinks he stole from the motel they slept in. Pretty sure he stole, Steve amends when he sees the motel’s name on the tag poking out. Of fucking course.

‘Are you just gonna stand there?’ asks Billy, startling Steve.

‘What?’

Billy sighs and scoots over to make space beside him. ‘Quit hovering, you’re making me nervous.’

‘Ha! You’ve never been nervous in your entire life.’

Billy angles his head so that Steve can see the corner of his mouth and the tip of his nose. Is he smiling? Steve steps closer to see.

He is. ‘Just sit down, Harrington. Jesus, why do you have to be so difficult?’

Steve hesitates and doesn’t know why when he decided to be near Billy in the first place. His fingers tighten on the jacket. Steve looks at the towel and sees sand on it, carelessly tracked in by the boots Billy didn’t bother to remove. Why use the towel in the first place? Steve will never understand Billy. He’s trying, and it’s a mystery as to why.

Steve’s weird about Billy. Even the shitheads picked up on it; Steve’s crazy preoccupation (Lucas’ word which everyone else picked up) on Billy The Asshole, the guy who beat him unconscious.

It’s just - Billy kept looking at Steve even when he stayed away after that cold November night and Steve kept looking back. At first, it was to make sure Billy didn’t get the jump on him again, but then nothing happened, and Steve kept looking and started seeing -

‘Here, dumbass, mornings everywhere are cold, even in California,’ says Steve, throwing Billy’s denim jacket over his head. He smirks to himself when it slips and falls on the sand and Billy has to shake it out, cursing.

Steve thinks about taking off his sneakers, eventually discards that, and steps on the towel, folding himself next to Billy, close enough their elbows brush. It’s the towel, it’s tiny, there’s no way to avoid physical contact unless Steve wants sand in his jeans. He sees the cigarette butts on the sand, three of them, and spies a fourth unsmoked one twirling in Billy’s fingers.

‘Want one? This is my last, though. You’re gonna have to find a convenience store and buy yourself a pack.’

‘Gee, how generous of you,’ says Steve.

Billy shrugs, leaning on his side to look at Steve, but then straightens again when his gaze strays back to the water. ‘Hey, I’ll even let you use my lighter, that’s how generous I am.’

It’s been two days of this, sniping and arguing, only missing the usual meanness. Silence interspersed in long stretches, sometimes companionable and sometimes on edge, depending on Billy’s mood. It can switch rapidly from one extreme to the other. The first few miles out of Hawkins, the atmosphere was thick and strained, weighed down by something like dread. It was there in the way Billy kept glancing at the rearview mirror, knuckles white on the steering wheel, as if he was expecting to be stopped by someone and told he could not leave. Steve knew that because he was waiting for it, too. When they crossed state lines, both of them let out relieved sighs at nearly the exact same time. Steve caught Billy’s eye and saw Billy grin, big and wild, and Steve found himself laughing, then whooping, as Billy raced down the highway.

Steve pushes his fringe away from his face. ‘You’re the soul of kindness and generosity, huh?’

‘Yup, that’s me. I’m a fucking saint, Harrington.’

Steve laughs under his breath, shaking his head a little bit. Billy is _funny_ , something that comes as a surprise. Someone so cruel should not be funny.

‘We’re finally here,’ says Steve, gaze forward. Large waves roll towards the shore and break into foam that sweeps over the sand. The ocean looks rough and choppy, and Steve wraps his arms around himself as the breeze blows in cold. ‘I was expecting more sun, to be honest.’

Snorting, Billy tucks the cigarette into the tiny pocket on his shirt where his lighter pokes out. He picks up his jacket by the collar and flaps it out towards Steve.

‘Here,’ he says, casual.

‘Uh, you’re just in a shirt, Billy.’

Billy gives him a deadpan look. ‘Am I? Didn’t notice.’

‘You wear it,’ protests Steve, shoving the jacket back towards Billy. ‘You like being warm.’

‘So do you, pretty boy.’

‘That’s why I’m wearing my own jacket.’

‘You don’t look warm, though. And this?’ Billy inhales deeply, turning his face towards the sky with a look so familiar that it sends a pang through Steve. It’s like looking in the mirror. ‘I don’t mind this cold.’ He sighs, lips in a lopsided smile that’s new and strange, and Steve can’t stop staring. It looks nice on him. It fits his face. Huh. ‘So, here, take it, Harrington. Don’t be a bitch about it.’

Steve does, with a jab about Billy’s unsavoury language, and slips his arms through the sleeves. Billy reaches out and tugs the collar to rights, his knuckles brushing lightly against Steve’s neck.

There’s something unreadable in Billy’s eyes as he watches Steve, that same look Steve’s noticed in passing glances in the locker room and hallway and across the parking lot of the arcade as Steve herded the thirteen year olds into his Beemer. It burns in his chest, and he holds Billy’s gaze, feeling his ears go hot at the unwavering focus, until Billy blinks, licks his lips, and looks away.

‘What are you gonna do now, pretty boy?’ asks Billy, kind of softly. ‘We’ve made it all the way to California without killing each other. This is where we part ways, as they say. Want me to drop you somewhere? I can’t go beyond L.A., and you’ll have to pay for gas or something, but I can - ‘ Shrugging, Billy ducks his head and wipes the sand off his jeans. His mouth twists, shoulders hunching in. He looks alone, as if Steve’s already left.

For some reason, it hurts. Steve stares down at his own shoes, and he digs the tips in the sand, feels the weight of it on his toes.

‘What’s the plan, Steve?’

The million dollar question. Steve plans on following the California coast up to Portland, and then play roulette with the map until he finds someplace he likes enough to stay for more than a few days. His parents disapprove but Steve’s got his trust fund now, and it’s not like they’ve cut him off. His ATM and credit card are still active, his allowance showing up like clockwork. His parents told him to go find himself or whatever it is he needs to get out of his system and then come back and start working for his dad’s company. There’s a branch in Pasadena and Steve made a promise to show his face there for a moment. Just come back in a year, is their one condition. Not because they care, or miss him when he’s gone, but to fulfil expectations.

Not like Billy, who looks like he already misses Steve even before he’s left, and Steve knows it.

Steve thinks about following his plan now. Thinks about getting up, dusting off his jeans, and asking Billy to drive him to the centre of town. Maybe they’ll have breakfast in a diner they pass by, waffles or pancakes with bacon and eggs, coffee on the side, both of them quiet, each thinking the other is glad to be alone soon. Then, to some cheap hotel, and Billy will stay in the car as Steve gets out and hauls his luggage out of the trunk.

‘Hey, man, thanks for letting me come with,’ Steve will say, leaning down to look at Billy through the window. He’ll pat the top of the car. ‘It was kinda nice that I didn’t have to hit you with my bat or anything.’

‘As if you brought it with you,’ Billy will scoff. He‘ll have sunglasses on, knockoff aviators, and he’ll tip them down the bridge of his nose to look at Steve over them and grin, wolfish. ‘I’m just glad you’re finally out of my hair, Harrington. You sure can be a whiny dumbass. It’s been _real_ fun but let’s not see each other again, huh?’

‘Asshole,’ Steve will say, then pet the car again. ‘Bye, Hargrove. Have a - I dunno - good life or something.’

Billy’s grin will be the cocky one, the exact same one that makes Steve want to wipe it off with his fist. ‘Fuck off and worry about yourself, Harrington.’

Then, Billy will drive off with a squeal of tires because he’s obnoxious like that, and Steve will stare as the Camaro disappears down the road, and he will be relieved.

Finally, Billy Hargrove is out of his life for good.

 _No_. The protest rises up in Steve with a vehemence that startles him. It makes his hands tremble just thinking about it. He wants to hold on to Billy and shake him until he promises he won’t leave Steve in some ugly hotel. He wants to listen to Billy’s voice when it’s not cut up by anger. He wants to be looked at like he’s amazing. He wants Billy to stay, and he wants to stay with Billy.

 _Fuck, when did that happen?_ Steve wonders in a daze.

Billy is frowning at him, eyebrow arched up, and he nudges Steve’s foot with his own. ‘Hello, earth to Steve? Is anyone home in there?’

There’s no one else in the area. They are alone as they can be. The Camaro hides them from any passing car. Just them. Steve’s pulse picks up. He can taste the want in the back of his throat, sharp and deep, not as sudden as he would have thought but the slow unfolding of something intense and complex and scary. From the very beginning, Billy has caught his attention, good and bad (mostly bad, but now mostly good), and it feels a lot like the riskiest thing he’ll ever do.

The fact that he chased after monsters will always be a little bit surreal and terrifying but that was something he could not avoid, not if he wanted to keep the people he cared for safe. This, _this_ is a choice, as inevitable as it feels.

There’s a note of exasperation in Billy’s voice when he says, ‘Harrington, you’re staring. If you want to say something, spit it out.’

‘Yeah,’ Steve breathes out, ‘shut up, Billy.’

‘What did you say?’

Smiling, Steve carefully places his hand on Billy’s waist. ‘I said shut up, alright? For just one minute, don’t say anything.’

That only seems to rile Billy up, puffing and blustering and throwing out offended masochism every which way. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing, Harrington?’ he asks, sharp, cold.

‘Something incredibly stupid or incredibly good, so, please, for the love of God, be _quiet_.’

It might be the please or the look Steve gives him or the upward glide of Steve’s hand on his torso, but Billy falls silent. His eyebrows knit together and his hands flex on his lap. His curls tumble all over the place.

‘You’re pretty,’ murmurs Steve.

Billy opens his mouth.

‘Shhhh,’ says Steve.

He slowly reaches for Billy, giving Billy enough warning so he won’t sock Steve in the face. Billy watches him, going rigid in the shoulders, eyes widening a fraction. It looks like Billy might pull away, and the protesting noise escapes from Steve’s throat before he can stifle it. Embarrassment prickles at Steve but it makes Billy hesitate, eyes roaming all over Steve’s face. Billy chews on the corner of his lips and Steve’s gaze is drawn to the action, to the way it makes Billy’s mouth pinker.

‘I - ‘ Steve has to swallow past the dryness of his mouth. God, he feels thirsty. ‘I’m going to kiss you now.’

Billy’s eyes darken. ‘Will you? _Can_ you?’ he asks, clear challenge in his tone. Billy moves closer until their faces are inches apart. Steve can see his morning stubble, the whiskers on his upper lip. His long nose is slightly crooked and there is a tiny scar on the corner of his eye, on his cheek, his jaw, by the ear, and there, slightly larger, along his hairline. Steve doesn’t need the reminder but he takes it anyway, something like heartbreak between his ribs.

Softly, slowly, Steve touches Billy’s cheek, then lifts his other hand until he’s cradling Billy’s face.

Billy stays quiet. He stays absolutely still. In contrast, Steve is quaking. He feels unsteady and hot in the pit of his stomach. He can feel Billy’s pulse against the side of his palm.

Billy outright dared him but Steve still has to ask: ‘I can kiss you, right? You won’t punch me or anything?’

Chin jutting out, Billy says, ‘Do it and find out.’

 _God, what an asshole_ , Steve thinks for the thousandth time and leans forward and presses their lips together.

It’s dry, closed-mouthed, and awkward. Steve can feel Billy’s facial hair against his cheeks. He smells like the ocean, tastes a bit of the cigarettes he smoked. Steve looks into Billy’s blue eyes, blurry from this close but still able to make out the greenish flecks in the irises. After a long, tense moment, Billy breathes out, going loose-limbed, and the puff of air tickles Steve’s lips, has him pressing in harder. Steve’s eyes slip close. He can hear his own heartbeat, even louder than the waves crashing on the shore.

It’s nothing special, just their lips touching ever so slightly, and yet -

Billy tilts his head to the side, opens his mouth a fraction, and the feel of it makes Steve light-headed and tremulous, has him taking a deeper breath, own lips opening in response. The kiss gets a little wetter, a little breathier, and Steve pushes into the touch, his lower lip dragging over Billy’s. The first wet touch of Billy’s tongue jolts through Steve like lightning, and he opens his mouth even wider, feels Billy lick at the bottom of his front teeth. Billy murmurs something into the kiss, and Steve doesn’t catch it. He pulls away, thinking it might be important (might be _no_ , please no) but Billy places a big hand on the side of his neck, thumb right on top of a collarbone, and drags him back in.

The second kiss is straight up French, mouths open and tongues coming out to play. Steve sucks on Billy’s upper lip, tongue sweeping inside his hot mouth and meeting Billy’s own. Steve finds Billy’s ears and curls around them, using them as handholds to guide Billy’s face this way and that. Billy bites on the corner of Steve’s mouth, hard, and Steve moans, shudders, melts into Billy’s hands.

Needing to breathe, Steve breaks the kiss with a gasp, and another shiver works down his spine when Billy instantly follows and takes little sipping kisses from his mouth with a soft, appreciative noise.

Billy finally ends it with one last lingering kiss before moving back enough for Steve to see that Billy‘s eyes are closed, lips red and slack, and something very close to wonder on his face.

It makes Steve’s throat go tight. He loosens his hold on Billy’s hair, then runs one hand through the thick of it, careful of the knots. They stay that way for a while, Steve just petting Billy’s hair, amazed that Billy is letting him and how nice it feels to be this close. Steve can’t resist pressing his lips to Billy’s cheek. Billy strokes over Steve’s collarbone in circles, then drags his thumb back and forth across the line of it.

‘I didn’t think you had it in you,’ says Billy on an exhale. His eyelashes flutter open, blue eyes soft like the early morning ocean.

‘I didn’t think I was staying,’ says Steve, honest. He bites the corner of his lip to stop himself from grinning at the way Billy visibly startles, leaning away from him to look Steve fully in the face.

Billy glances down at their clasped hands, lips twisting in an uncertain frown. His hand loosens its grip, then tightens painfully as Billy meets his gaze with a fired up one of his own. ‘So, what, is this like phase two in your experiment? You survived travelling to California with me and now you’re trying to see if you can be gay? Try new things before you fuck off back to Hawkins and marry some girl and take over your dad’s business?’

There is a threat of aggression that seems to constantly simmer under Billy’s skin. He can go from 0 to 80 in the blink of an eye, like now, his jagged edges coming back to pierce through whoever dares come close. Anger is his closest ally and he uses his fists as weapons. Steve’s felt them both keenly before and has the scar to prove that Billy Hargrove is dangerous.

The funny thing is, though, Steve’s kind of convinced that he’s safe here in Billy’s space. He wasn’t sure of that when he got into Billy’s car and drove off with him a few days ago - which was a really fucking stupid decision - but something about the way Billy is looking at him _now_ , the way he’s bracing himself as if Steve’s the one who’ll throw a punch, the way Billy kissed him, slow and inexorable like the churn of the Pacific, the way he slept in the motel with his bare back to Steve, the way Billy kept glancing at Steve out of the corner of his eye as the Camaro rushed down the open highway, careful and surprised and just a little bit hopeful -

Months after the guy nearly kills him and Steve suddenly runs away with him to the other side of the country, holds his hand, kisses him, and wants to tuck a curl behind Billy’s ear. The last one he hasn’t done yet so he does. His fingertips linger on the curve of Billy’s ear, which, delightfully, starts to turn pink. It’s precious, and Steve feels giddy and sort of drunk from doing what he wants and being where he wants.

_I like him._

‘I like you,’ Steve says in the end, simple as that, and watches in fascination as the pink spreads up from Billy’s neck to his cheeks. Billy jerks back as if slapped, mouth falling open, eyes round in disbelief.

‘Are you fucking _insane?_ ’

Steve laughs and locks their hands tighter in case Billy might bolt. ‘I must be. I mean, me, Steve Harrington, liking an asshole like Billy Hargrove? But, God, more impossible things have happened.’ Steve’s smile falters, and he tugs Billy closer, then does it again with much more force when Billy resists. Billy lets himself be reeled in, slow and hesitant, and the way he licks his lower lip, then sucks in the corner of his mouth, makes something sweet and achy bloom in Steve’s chest.

It’s a familiar feeling by now and Steve wonders how Billy got the key to come inside like this and fuck with his feelings so thoroughly; knowing Billy, he might have stolen it.

Steve presses their foreheads together. He likes this closeness, this shared warmth. He wants to be undressed, touched, and unravelled in a way he hasn’t looked for in months, too scared of monsters to want more than his nailed up bat in his hands. It’s still crazy that he wants this with Billy Fucking Hargrove, of all people. A boy. A sometimes violent, moody, uncertain boy who drove Steve out of Hawkins and brought him somewhere he can breathe again.

Tentative fingers touch the corner of Steve’s mouth, and Steve lets it smile in welcome, tucking his face down to kiss the rough fingertips. He hears Billy’s breathing hitch.

‘You like me, too, right? That’s why you’re such an asshole to me - seriously, that’s gotta stop if we’re going to date.’ Steve nips on the pad of Billy’s thumb in reproach, looking at Billy through his lashes. ‘Can you please be gentle with me this time? You’ve done it before.’

(In the dark, sleeping in the car with the seats pulled down as low as they’ll go, Steve in the grips of a terrible nightmare where vines kept chasing him no matter how far he went, and Billy gently shaking him awake, calling his name with a note of worry buried under sleepy annoyance, until Steve starts crying. Then, Billy reaching out to wipe Steve’s tears away without a single derisive word, keeping his palm in between them when the tears run dry (just in case). The next day, Billy telling Steve to pick a radio station with careful nonchalance, then bitching about Steve’s choice for the next twenty minutes.)

Billy makes a noise low in his throat, and his touch loses some of its hesitancy, weaving through Steve’s messy hair and gripping firmly. He knocks their foreheads together once and then keeps them there. The intensity in Billy’s gaze makes Steve feel hot and excited, heart beating a little faster, a little harder.

Billy clenches his fist until Steve feels his scalp prickle, making him gasp. ’You sure you want it gentle all the time, Harrington?’ asks Billy, lips coy at the edges. He drags his tongue over his lips again and it’s dirty this time, suggesting things with his hooded eyes and spit-slick smile better than any porn magazine Steve’s ever seen.

And Steve knows Billy is deflecting, veering away from serious to something his cocky persona has no problem handling. ( _Seriously, why do I like this guy?_ he asks himself with a burst of affection.)

Steve wants serious, though. He wants real and good and maybe even wonderful. He‘s gotten a taste of it, with Nancy. The grief of losing her has faded, and with time and distance, he thinks he would want to talk to her again.

Here and now, though, there is Billy, who’s starting to look agitated as Steve lets the silence stretch between them. Billy’s face hardens as he pulls away, fingers loosening their grip on Steve’s hair, and Steve lets out an involuntary whimper at how devastating that feels. He wraps his arms around Billy and hugs him, their cheeks pressed together. Billy smells of cigarette smoke and the brine of the ocean. At first, Billy is rigid in his arms. Steve’s thumb rubs circles under Billy’s ear and feels Billy relax by degrees until he’s embracing Steve back. Steve swallows; _that’s_ something, alright.

‘You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?’ Billy whispers, doubt lacing his voice. The ocean crashes behind and all around them.

Pulling back to look into eyes as tumultuous as the waves, Steve shakes his head. ‘I swear I’m not, Billy.’

‘How can you even like me?’

‘To he honest, I don’t know. I just, I just do, alright? God, I didn’t even know it when I decided to go with you. You were just - convenient. Heading out the same way I was and I thought, why not?’

‘So many fucking reasons, pretty boy. Remember I broke your face once, huh?’

‘Yeah, let’s not do that again.’

Billy reaches and rubs at the thin scar on Steve’s hairline. ‘Sometimes, I feel sorry, sometimes, I don’t. I’m messed up, Harrington.’

‘It’s Steve. I like it when you call me Steve. And I’m messed up, too. I’m so - ‘ His voice catches, thinking about the tunnels, the nightmare creature opening its flower maw, Dustin crying his name ‘ - far from okay it’s not even funny.’

Billy’s eyes flicker all over Steve’s face, searching, searching. ‘Steve,’ he says slowly, like he’s savouring it, voice rough enough to send a shiver down Steve’s spine. ‘Steve, you’re gonna be the death of me. I can’t say no to you, but you knew that already.’

Steve smiles. ‘You’ll be gentle?’

Billy’s Adam apple bobs. ‘Yeah.’ He holds Steve’s face between his hands, terribly gentle. It pricks at Steve’s heart.

‘You like me?’

‘Yeah, yeah, I do.’

It feels so sweet to hear. Steve brushes their noses together. ‘There, that wasn’t so hard,’ he teases.

Snorting, Billy squeezes his cheeks once and then lets go. He rakes Steve’s fringe back from his forehead and flicks it softly with his other hand.

‘Ow, fuck, Billy! Gentle! We just talked about this.’

‘On occasion,’ says Billy, smile blooming slow and beautiful, and he looks younger like this, carefree. ‘This is some cheesy shit, King Steve.’

‘Right? It’s awesome.’ Steve pulls back and then shuffles closer until his knee sits on top of Billy’s, their shoulders pressed together. ‘Look at that sunrise, Billy.’

He feels Billy’s hair brush the side of his neck and he resists curling it around his finger. Billy leans back on his hands and takes a deep breath. His gaze flicks back and forth between the sunrise and Steve’s face.

‘Is it how you remember it?’ asks Steve, watching the sun break over the water, pushing the dark back and letting the light in.

Billy tilts his head to the side. The sunlight seems to shimmer in his eyes. ‘It’s better thanks to the company.’

Ducking his head to hide his blush, Steve bumps their shoulders together. ‘Who’s being cheesy now, huh?’

‘You have to read the mood, sweetheart.’

There’s no hiding his grin, helpless and maybe a little besotted. ‘Did you just call me sweetheart?’

‘Got a problem with that?’

‘Nope, unless I get to call you a name too, snookums.’

‘Mine’s better, yours just sucks.’

‘Sweet cheeks?’

Billy makes a face. ‘Do you want me to dump you?’

‘Back to threats already.’ Giving in to temptation, Steve catches a fluttering curl and rubs it between his fingertips. Soft but tangled by the wind, the colour of the brightening sunrise. He gives it a mischievous tug. ‘Baby suits you, I think, because you seem like a giant baby.’

‘Fuck you, sweetheart,’ Billy says and tackles Steve down on the sand. Steve yells when he feels sand rush into his shirt, hands shoving Billy back, laughing when he gets a mouthful of hair. Billy’s grin is sharp and vicious, but his eyes are all kinds of warm and the beginnings of tender, and Steve stops trying to push him off and kisses him instead.

It’s not perfect, far from it. They still have to figure out where they’ll stay and what they’ll do. Billy will go to college, that’s for sure, and that’s a good challenge. This thing between them feels new and fragile and Steve wants to keep it. Keep Billy. They’ll have to be careful, to find a way to have each other in their lives without fucking each other up even more.

But Steve is away from the trees and darkness, and Billy’s face doesn’t have bruises (will never have them again, if Steve has his way) and a new day is starting, warming them through as they make out on the sand.

It’s looking bright.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> feedback is love <3


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